


Stages

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-25
Updated: 2004-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Every year brings its own realizations: a journey through the life and development of one Brian Kinney.





	Stages

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Brian is three years old, and the windshield on his firetruck has been broken for three weeks. It was smooth and whole when he unwrapped it on his birthday, but it cracked the next day when Daddy stepped on it. He cried, but the tears were more for his twisted wrist than for the damage to his toy.

_I told you not to leave that on the floor, Sonny Boy._

The jagged plastic scrapes his palm when he slides the truck across the floor, but it still rolls and the swirling plastic chips in the clear tube across the top give the illusion of flashing lights. He will put the truck away when he's done, and Daddy will be happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brian will be five years old tomorrow, and this year he doesn't even try to sneak a bite of the icing off of the cake "hidden" in the back of the refrigerator. It's coconut, just like last year, and he doubts it will taste any better. Far more tempting is the chocolate bar sitting on the counter, but that's not for him. So instead of munching on candy or stolen icing, he sits at the table, staring at the mound of brussel sprouts on his plate with a baleful eye.

_Fine, have it your way. But you'll eat those vegetables, or sit there all night young man!._

The slight slur in his mother's voice had done nothing to disguise her anger, and so here he sat. This time, he was determined to win. He wouldn't eat the disgusting sprouts, and he wouldn't eat a bite of the cake tomorrow. No matter how much he regretted it later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday was Brian's twelfth birthday, and the day he decided what he wanted to be when he grew up. A fag. He knows better than to share this goal with his family, but takes perverse delight in planning all the wonderfully shocking and base things he will do when he's no longer under their roof. There will be beer involved, he suspects, and maybe even sex that lasts all night.

_See that you're ready for church on time tomorrow. I won't be late again because of you._

That sounds like an even better plan to Brian; what could be more perfect, more satisfying, than mapping out his life of sin right under the noses of his mother and the sanctimonious parish priest?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The year Brian turns eighteen he fucks half of the varsity football team, and gets his letter of acceptance from Pitt. His competence in matters both academic and sexual is common knowledge, and the self-satisfied smirk he's been perfecting all his life is now less of an illusion. Mikey just shakes his head, torn between awe and envy as Brian relates his latest exploits, and Brian thinks that life is good.

_But, Brian, how can you pay for college?_

It's the one fly in his ointment, but it's nothing that his mouth and his ass can't smooth over. After all, the first rule of advertising is knowing how to sell yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Whore of Babylon" may be an empty title, but Brian knows that no-one earned it more quickly than he has. Of course, he prefers the title "King", but he's arrogant enough at twenty-three to make little distinction. Either way, there's always an ass or a mouth waiting for him in the backroom, and more fucks and tricks than even he can keep count of by the time the stroke of midnight announces he's another year older.

_'Night, Brian. I'm headed home._

He watches Michael leave with a half-lidded gaze and a lazy swivel of his hips. No need to go to the loft. The soft lips and sliding tongue on their knees in front of him are close enough to home for tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brian is thirty, and the world is spinning out of control. There's blood on his hands, and blood over his heart, and it feels like something is broken. Something he didn't even know was there until it was destroyed. The only thing real is the stained cloth sliding back and forth in his hands, and the sickly fluorescent glow on the tiles beneath his feet.

_Ridiculously romantic._

The phrase rolls around and around in his head, until he can't remember if the words came from his lips, or fell against his ear. He thinks that he'll probably never know for sure, and wonders if he can sort out all the pieces or if he'll be tangled forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next week is Brian's thirty-third birthday, though if pressed he will admit only to thirty-one. In rare moments of clear thought he can laugh at the subtle distinction, but mocking himself is low on his list of priorities when he's busy puking his guts out. Justin's hand is steady on his back, and he doesn't even bother to protest anymore when the cool rag wipes over his face and neck.

_So, what do you want to do for your birthday?_

The fact that Justin will still ask that question to get a rise out of him reassures him like nothing else. Justin wouldn't tease a dying man. He pushes himself to his feet and staggers to the bed, caught between a smile and a grimace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brian is thirty-five years old, and he still hasn't recovered from the shock of not caring. He was treated to a horrific "surprise" party, complete with hats and balloon animals, and spent the majority of the party snickering at Melanie's attempts to keep the penis-shaped chocolate bars out of Gus' sight. Thankfully, no one sang "Happy Birthday", and Debbie managed to cook for a mere fifty people instead of the usual hundred so he was forced to take home only three bowls of pasta.

_I left your other present at home._

Justin had whispered the words into his ear as they walked up the steps to the door, and ground his hips into Brian's in case there was any doubt as to his meaning. Sliding behind the wheel and dragging Justin's hand over to his crotch, Brian smiles as he cranks the car.


End file.
